Chapter Eighteen, Count For Me
The woods swallowed me whole as I ran, the oppressive darkness clinging to me like a second skin.
Every thud of my boots against the dirt path felt like it reverberated through my skull.
My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out all sense of reason.
Malivore, bless her, darted alongside me, her paws a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that almost matched my ragged breathing.
She didn’t leave me behind, even though she could have.
“Run,” I whispered to her, even though she didn’t need the encouragement. “Just keep running.”
I wished I had the same determination she did. My heart was in my throat, panic creeping up my spine as I clutched Atlas’ fancy knife like a lifeline. The blade glinted in the moonlight, a cruel reminder that I was far from defenseless—but God, did it feel like I was.
The trees seemed to close in on me, shadows stretching their long fingers toward me as if they could sense the fear pulsing through my veins. There was a tight knot in my stomach—whether from sheer panic or the sheer amount of candy I’d consumed, I couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe both.
There’s a hideout, Heather. Remember? You’re not helpless. You’ve got this.
Every crunch of leaves and snap of twigs underfoot felt like the world was shouting my location. I could swear someone was close behind. My breath hitched, and I forced my legs to keep moving, even though they were burning.
I had to get to safety. There was no chance of me being a burden to my men. It was smarter to leave them to the violence.
I wasn’t some damsel, though. I wasn’t going to trip over a branch and scream as the bad guy caught up with me. No, I was going to get to the hideout; I was going to stab the shit out of anyone who got in my way, and I was going to live to sass Gio about everything later.
I was going to be the tiniest bit of a hitwoman I pretended to be.
We’d planned for this. We’d talked about it a hundred times, joked about what we’d do if something went wrong. But it didn’t feel like a joke now. It felt horribly, terrifyingly real.
The hideout finally came into view—a cluster of jagged rocks hidden in the thick of the forest, barely visible unless you knew where to look.
I scrambled into the small gap that hid me from sight, pulling Malivore with me.
My breath came out in sharp, panicked bursts as I pressed myself against the cool, damp stone, hoping the shadows would keep me hidden even more, seeing as my lungs were doing their best to get me murdered.
Turned out I wasn’t as fast or skilled with sprinting as I’d told Gio. I was just regular speed, and my lungs were mediocre at best. It was a devastating revelation.
The earthy smell of moss and dirt filled my nostrils, grounding me just a little, but I still felt like I might burst out of my skin.
The darkness was thick, the air heavy and humid, making it feel like I was choking on the night itself.
But I stayed still, quiet, straining my ears for any sound of footsteps—any sign that bad guys were on my tail.
I had maybe five seconds of stillness before I heard it: a sharp crack of a branch snapping in the distance.
My stomach plummeted. No, no, no…
I clutched the knife tighter in my hand, my fingers slick with sweat. Malivore’s low growl rumbled next to me. Her hackles raised. We both knew what was coming then. That it wasn’t one of our boys. It was someone mean. Someone wicked.
I could hear whoever it was a second later. The rustle of leaves, the faint but unmistakable sound of someone creeping closer. My heart slammed against my ribcage, my pulse deafening in my ears.
Please don’t find us. Please don’t find us.
A figure stepped into the clearing in front of me when I peered out of the rocks, his face obscured by a black mask. His steps were slow, as if he were savoring the moment. My blood ran cold as I caught the glint of a weapon in his hand and his eyes trained right on me.
Shit.
Before I could even think, I let out a wild scream, launching myself at him with the knife. My movements were clumsy, panicked, and the blade swung wildly through the air, hitting nothing but darkness.
The masked man dodged easily, grabbing for me, but Malivore was faster. She was the real hero of the story, and the one who deserved the hitwoman title.
She lunged at him, teeth bared, and latched onto his leg with a vicious growl. He shouted in pain, stumbling back as he tried to shake her off, but she wasn’t letting go. She was like a freaking lion, feral and determined. She just kept biting and biting, like a goddamn warrior.
“Yes, Mali! Get him!” I shouted, the adrenaline giving me a surge of courage. I wasn’t about to let her fight alone. I always had my girls’ backs.
With renewed confidence, I gripped the knife tighter and slashed again, this time sinking the blade into the guy’s arm. His scream was deafening, a gurgled, pained sound that sent a sick satisfaction through me.
I was winning. I was—
Nope.
Even in the dark, I caught sight of the blood, thick and dark, seeping from his arm. The metallic tang of it hit my nostrils a second later, and suddenly, my stomach was flipping, churning in the worst way.
I stumbled back, the world spinning.
“Oh no,” I mumbled, dropping the knife as I turned to the side. “Oh God.”
And just like that, I doubled over and vomited into the bushes. My whole body shook as I retched, the sour taste filling my mouth.
“Why,” I groaned between heaves, “why am I like this? Goddamn it, Heather. You stab someone, and you’re the one throwing up. Real scary. You’re a great fucking hitwoman.”
A moment or two later, I spat into the dirt, trying to regain some sense of control. But the nausea was relentless, clawing at my insides like a living thing. And then, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I heard another monster—a soft, feminine chuckle coming from it.
I froze, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before turning around slowly.
Standing a few feet away was a woman. Tall, with her black hair long and sleek, falling around her in a perfect sheet. She wore a mask too, a black balaclava with little horns attached and the eyes cut out, but something about the way she moved reminded me of someone.
My heart stuttered in my chest.
She wasn’t even looking at me. She was watching the man on the ground, writhing and moaning in pain as Malivore continued to maul him. The woman tilted her head slightly, as if studying the scene, before her gaze flickered to me.
Her eyes were so dark under that mask that she looked hollow. Empty. As though someone had taken away her very soul and stripped her clean.
I straightened up quickly, gripping the knife again even though my hands were shaking.
“Stay back,” I warned, my voice wobbly. “Or I’ll… I’ll murder you too. See?” I gestured to the guy on the ground. “I’m really good at it.”
She laughed. Not the mocking kind. It was almost… gentle.
“You’re sick at the sight of blood?” she asked, her voice low and smooth, with an almost musical quality to it. There was a hint of an accent that was not American, and once more it reminded me of something.
Of someone.
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Y-yeah. But that won’t stop me.”
Her eyes burned with something close to amusement. “I used to be the same.” She glanced down at the man writhing in the dirt again. “The trick is to see more of it. Bathe in it. Swim in it, almost. Eventually, you get used to the horror.”
Before I could even process her words, she reached into her jacket, pulled out a gun, and—without hesitation—shot the man in the head.
I flinched at the sudden, loud crack of the gunshot. The body slumped, blood pooling beneath him as the woods fell eerily silent.
She turned the gun toward me.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I raised my hands instinctively, the knife still clenched in one of them, but I felt like a child playing with a toy compared to the way she held her weapon—with a deadly, terrifying ease.
Malivore let out a deep growl, quickly standing between us, her body tense and ready to attack again.
“Please,” I blurted, the words tumbling out of my mouth as the woman stared at my fluffy baby. “Please don’t shoot the dog. She’s… she’s a good girl. Kill me if you have to. I’ll be a pretty corpse. But please don’t hurt Mali.”
The woman’s head cocked slightly, and she lowered the gun just a fraction. “I’m not a monster,” she whispered. Then she spoke something in Russian, her tone firm but not harsh.
To my utter shock, Malivore immediately sat down, her growls fading as she obeyed the woman’s command.
I gaped at her. “What the hell? How… how did you do that?”
She crouched down, petting Malivore’s head like they were old friends, and then rose to her feet, her gaze locking on the knife in my hand.
“Your boyfriend has good taste,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.
“In dogs. And weapons. And girls. You are a pretty little thing, even if you are entirely useless in battle. I almost forgot how cute you were.”
“I’m not useless. I’m just…” I trailed off and swallowed hard, gripping the knife tighter.
“Fine. I’m not a hitwoman, okay? Fucking sue me.
I’m a stripper and I hate blood, but that doesn’t matter.
” I forced myself to grin. “I’ve got two murdering boyfriends, and they’ll be here any second. So, uh, you should probably leave.”
It took me a moment to realize what she’d said.
How she’d complimented my boyfriend’s knife.
She blinked at me a few times. “Your pretty gangster is already in my car,” she said casually, as if she were commenting on the weather.
“As for Atlas… Hmm. He’ll be there soon.
But don’t worry, I don’t want to kill them yet.
I haven’t spent months working out my plan, just to end it with something as lame as murder. ”
My blood ran cold, and just like that, I realized why I felt like I knew her.
She moved like Atlas did. Her eyes were as hollow as his got sometimes. Her icy, calm demeanor and empty aura were the same thing he fought off every damn day.
“You… you know Atlas?” I already knew my answer.
She didn’t answer, but instead, she rolled up her sleeve, revealing a tattoo on her arm—some strange symbol I didn’t recognize as anything. But knew what it was all the same.
Atlas had it on his wrist. In the same place. He’d just hidden it with his new ink and had only traced it out with his fingers when showing me what it meant.
That it was the branding The Company used on all their fucked up toys.
“I remembered he spared my life once,” she breathed, her tone almost nostalgic. “And I know you understand loyalty and teamwork. So I’ll return the favor by being sweet to you.”
The air left my lungs in a rush. My mind raced.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She ignored my question, holstering her gun as if I weren’t even a threat. “Stay here until you count to a thousand,” she instructed, her voice soft but commanding. “And I’ll let you live.”
I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest. “Are you serious?”
“Promise me,” she said, her gaze piercing through me like a blade. “I don’t like liars, and I’ll know if you lie.”
With only the slightest — okay, the largest — of nerves, I swallowed hard, nodding. “I… I promise.”
“Good,” she said, turning away from me. She took a few steps into the shadows before glancing back at me one last time. “See you around, Blue. Try not to die in the woods tonight. They’re a morbid place to haunt.”
And just like that, she disappeared into the darkness as though she’d never even been there.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the empty space where she’d been. My legs felt like jelly, and my entire body shook with adrenaline.
That was the woman from the store. I knew it now, as I desperately tried to remember her face. The one I’d thought looked like Atlas then, with the way she held herself.
And she was a hitwoman. A professional. A killer of the worst kind.
She was Atlas, but she was not free. That was worse somehow, even if she had let me go.
I collapsed against the rock, gripping the knife to my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. Malivore nuzzled my side, her warm presence grounding me, but I could still feel the lingering chill from that woman’s words.
But because I knew she was like Atlas, and that he would never lie, I started counting under my breath, just like she’d told me to. “One… two… three”
I didn’t know what the hell was going on. But one thing was clear—I wasn’t sitting here for long.
I’d keep my promise. I’d count to a thousand. And the second I was done?
I was going to find my men.
And God help anyone who stood in my way.